


Having Hope

by MichaelMell (GalacticTwink)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Alive, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Slow Burn, Veilstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticTwink/pseuds/MichaelMell
Summary: John finds Eridan, hopeless and nearly lifeless, and sees an angel who lost his way. He picks his angel back up again and gives him something to live for, along with returning the feelings that broke him in the first place. Gentle love and blooming hope are delicate things, but Eridan hands John something much more precious and even more profound. His trust.





	1. Lost Angel

John glances up the staircase that leads up to the roof, squinting at the faint glow of almost-light that filters out from a room.   
    “Someone left a door open up there? That's weird.” John frowns, taking a step up onto the stairs and sliding his hand across the cool railing as he scales the steep steps. As he gets closer to the door, John's hand slides through moisture on the railing, the metal lightly covered with liquid he can't see very well in the dim lighting. Hopefully he won't encounter anything bloody, or inappropriate upstairs; though that wouldn't be the ideal place for either of those activities in John's opinion. He slips on the top step, yelping as his hand slides on the wet railing and lets him fall; smacking his face against the concrete steps and cracking his glasses while they're still on his face.   
    “Damn it, I'm starting to run out of extras.” John sighs, pulling himself back up to his feet and wiping blood away from his nose. Whichever troll left their door open had better be glad John came by to shut the door and keep out the cold for them. This time being very careful on the splotches of what he's assuming is water, John makes it to the door and peeks his head inside. It's as cold as it is in the hallway already, which really can't be comfortable for the troll inside.  
    “Knock knock!” He steps inside, clicking the door shut behind him and glancing around. More water is pooling on the floor, standing on the hard floor and tinted with blue. Upon further investigation, John finds that the water is definitely water but smells sweeter than it usually would.   
    “Anybody ho-” he pushes a door the rest of the way open, his sentence stuttering to a halt on his lips. A grey arm is draped over the side of one of the troll bathtubs, nails that had presumably been scraping on the hard floor still. The rings on the troll’s fingers have fallen to the floor, in a semicircle around the stationary didget’s they previously occupied. John takes a few cautious steps closer, eyes falling on the stagnant water filling the tub to the brim; a slimy looking texture to it and a sickeningly sweet fragrance wafting up from it.   
    “Oh, jeez..” John can estimate that the water is exactly colder than ice, retracting the finger he'd stick in and wiping it on shirt to remove the oily residue from his skin. The cause of that can be found just beside the tub, where an empty container of bath salt lays beside a half filled canister of bath bombs. The air in the room is still, holding the sugary scent and making the room feel suffocating. Maybe they just fell asleep? With a touch to the troll’s arm, John finds himself taking a step back in shock. Ice cold.   
    “Okay, okay..” John swallows, reaching both hands into the water to find shoulders beneath it and pull the troll up by them so he can reach down and pull the drain plug and get rid of all this water. The heir takes a knee beside the tub, supporting the troll and trying to get a good look at them. Him, if John can take an educated guess on that. He's not one of the trolls John recognises, so they must not be acquainted yet; which would've been helpful for moving him, given the troll is completely nude at the moment. Clothes would help, but John has to get him rinsed off before he can get him dry.   
    “Alright, let's get something warm in here..” the troll half in John's arms is still breathing, but he can barely hear it over his own. Warm water comes rushing from the faucet that John catches in a pail he'd found nearby, pouring it slowly over the troll to clean his skin and warm him up.   
    “Huh? What's..” the heir skims a finger across a patch of the troll’s neck that seemed to be moving, coming up again with more oily salts and.. blood? That's never a good sign. More water is poured over these spots in particular, cleaning the gunk from the patches that look almost like gills to John. The gross overuse of bath products even got to his hair, which John scrubs out and leaves flat over his face to let the warm water run down his skin and drop back into the half filled tub.   
    "How did you end up drowning in..”the god frowns, lifting one of the grey arms and wiping it off to feel for any raised marks; which he does find. It's all been quiet for a while around here, nothing to do any damage but the occupants of the lab.   
    "Poor guy... it's alright..” John sets the pail aside to skim his hands across the grey skin and make sure he's started to warm up and isn't covered in oil anymore. He drains the water, holding out his hand and making a light breeze to catch a towel without needing to leave the troll to get it.   
    “Oh, wow.” John blinks at the troll when he turns him around, nearly dropping the towel he was about to start using on him.   
    “And here I didn't believe in angels.” He breathes, sweeping two toned hair from grey skin to see more of the angel’s face; high cheekbones arched on his face and a soft jawline that softens his features. John holds his fingers in front of the troll’s mouth and nose, feeling for breath to make sure he isn't imagining the rise and fall of his chest. It's soft, but John doesn't know cpr so it'll have to do for now. He lifts the surprisingly light figure from the tub into his arms, frowning a bit as the small hairs on the back of the angel’s neck bristle. The room is still freezing, especially to a creature used to warm temperatures as the trolls are.  
    “Hm, it's cold in here isn't it?” Careful of the angel’s horns and head, John carries him into another room that looks like a bedroom; a cocoon shoved into the corner filled up with softly glowing green slime.   
    "Okay, this is going to be cold.. I'm sorry.” The angel is set down on a chair John found in front of a desk, so the heir can dig into the clothes in the closet and pull something out for him.   
    “Arms first maybe?” Pulling the long sleeved shirt onto the troll is harder than John thought it would be, but he manages to get it on followed by some pants which are much easier. John's angel is still cold as snow, but he's breathing and John can feel a pulse beneath his jaw. The god is glad he can fly, carrying the angel back to his own room quickly in the air to lie him down and nestle him into John's bedsheets.   
    “Alright, well… gosh you're still really cold, and I don't want you to freak out when you wake up somewhere different..” John climbs into bed beside the angel, tucking the sheets on the other side of the troll and pulling them up over himself as well to curl up at the angel’s side to hopefully warm him up the rest of the way


	2. Waking Trolls

John wakes up with arms wrapped around him, black hair tickling the side of his face and making him almost have to sneeze but not quite. Good, that means his angel had been feeling well enough to move throughout the night. He can feel breath on his neck, the angel’s cheek nuzzling lightly against his own while he sleeps. John can't effectively move, with legs wrapped around his hips, but the moment is enjoyable enough to not want to. Absently, the heir threads his fingers through the angel’s hair to find his horns in the bicoloured mess and rub gentle circles near where the stripe of orange meets red on one of them. He avoids the red, not wanting to get attacked or grinded on when he's having such a nice morning. A purr rises from the troll nestled against his chest, bringing a smile to John's face to hear the familiar noise. It's not quite the same; a little deeper, a little more wave to it, but it's the same concept really. The purring is interrupted, after a few moments, by soft noises that tell the god that his angel is probably waking up. He makes an almost mewling sound, lifting his head to meet eyes with John; iris’ a bright purple against the gold of his eyes as they widen and claws dig into John's back, tearing his shirt and drawing blood in the troll’s alarm.   
    “Hey, uh-” maybe this wasn't the best idea, considering how long it took John to be able to wake up Karkat in the morning when he knew he was going to be there. A snarl raises into the air, bringing John to the point of panic. He does something he knows he shouldn't and squirms, trying to pry himself out of his angel’s grip to get away. Claws dig into his skin when he moves, raking from the small of his back around his chest and drawing blood as they went. John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing he can't die for real if this troll does kill him but still feeling the pain as his claws tear open flesh. The heir lets out a sort of scream, scratching his own nails across the troll’s face and barely leaving a mark in the process; probably agitating the troll further. John twists, at least protecting vital organs from further assault, burying his face down into his pillow. He barely hears a sound of surprise, followed closely by the growling’s end.   
    “Kar?” The angel mistakes John for Karkat, voice hesitant and filled with caution as he touches John's hair. The god makes a noise, the hand on his head retracting as he squirms and hisses in an attempt to sit upright.  
    “Not Karkat, which is probably lucky for you.” The angel is silent, eyes moving from the blood oozing from John's torso up to his eyes to take him in. One of his arms is lifted for the troll to examine, attention locked on his pale skin and blue veins.   
    “John.” He provides his name, snapping the troll’s attention back up to him.   
    “Your eyes.” Eyes? What about his eyes? John happens to get an awful lot of compliments on them, but that didn't exactly sound like one.   
    "Am I dead? Did I die? Is this it? I fall asleep and wake up here?” John's eyes. His eyes that aren't white like the dead players he's seen in dream bubbles. Of course, he's confused; disoriented after expecting to die and waking up with someone that has full, colourful eyes.   
    “No, you didn't die. You would have, I think, but I-” John is interrupted when his angel decides he'd rather find out what the god tastes like rather than hear what he has to say. Teeth catch and rip the skin on his bottom lip, the angel’s tongue sweeping through John's mouth and stopping briefly when it finds the heir’s tongue piercing.  
    “Eridan.” He introduces himself breathlessly, a smile on his face and a bit of John's blood smeared across his lips. The name isn't familiar to John at all, but Karkat had mentioned once before that some of the trolls didn't want to meet the humans. Well, John kind of had to meet him last night, so he got to meet one human at least.  
    “Well, Eridan, how do you feel?” The angel blinks at John, glancing briefly around before returning his stare to the god in front of him.   
    “Me? How do I feel?”   
    "Well, yeah, you did almost die last night.” John laughs a little before he can bite it back, a smile still trying to break free when he's trying to be serious. His lips tug down at the corners, Eridan’s eyes beginning to water and drip with purple tears; his shoulders shaking and face screwing up as he tries to stop the flow of tears.   
    “Hey, woah, don't cry; it's alright.” John doesn't know what to do, with still burning gashes across his skin that hurt like hell he pulls the crying troll up against him to pat his back and hold him gently. His angel is speaking too softly for John to hear, clutching the human close and further injure him in an attempt to leech comfort from John. It hurts, and Eridan seems to realise that as he pulls away; blood smeared across the front of his shirt and on his arms.   
    “Oh.” He blinks down at his own shirt, then to the source of blood with a frown. John's angel reaches out to touch him, making the human openly hiss in pain as the wounds are prodded at.   
    "Does that hurt?” He sounds concerned, pulling up at John's shirt to look at his blood as it exits the human’s body. The god gives an affirmative nod of his head, face straining to keep from letting himself cry or show any signs of weakness. He remembers what Karkat told him; about higher blooded trolls attacking what they see as weaker than themselves. He's already been sliced up, John would rather not have to regenerate after getting torn apart.   
    “Ah, I'm sorry; here…” Eridan looks up, holding out his hand to catch what looks like a first aid kit when he uncapturelogs it from his sylladex. The claws that still have a taint of John's blood on them brush harmlessly against fragile human skin, fingers working gently to pull the bloodied shirt away from skin and set it off to the side.   
    "They're kind of deep.. You ever had stitches before?” He takes John's reaction as a no, finding a towel in his sylladex and wrapping it around where the wounds are to apply pressure and minimise bleeding.   
    “Close your eyes.” The heir does as he's told, trying to focus less on the way a needle can do easily slide through his skin, and the scrape of medical thread, but on his own breathing and Eridan’s hands instead. It doesn't work, but it's a good distraction for John's brain so he doesn't agonise over the slide of metal and the sound of skin breaking. He's moved, which is agonisingly painful, so all the wounds in need of attention get it; tears pricking at the breath player’s eyes and slipping down his face even as Eridan tells him that he's finished, fingers rubbing some kind of cream across the lines of stitching before applying gauze overtop.   
    “That should hold for a- what's wrong?” John's eyes stay fixed down on his torso, ignoring Eridan’s stumbled w’s to touch and prod at the fresh gauze. The hand is pulled away, grey fingers wrapped tightly around the human’s thin wrist to hold him in place.  
    “Was it supposed to go numb?” A sigh comes from the troll, releasing John's wrist to check the container of medicine he'd used.   
     “Well, no, but it wasn't exactly made with humans in mind.” The human’s shoulders relax, a sigh of relief rushing past his lips as he leans back-or more falls really-against the pillows behind him.   
    “I'm sorry, I didn't even think about-”  
    "Shush, it's fine. At least when I'm numb, it doesn't hurt right?” He reasons, raising his arms when Eridan leans in to wrap his own around the human.   
    "Why were you in my block?” The troll enquiries, breath once again tickling the hair on John's neck as he's nuzzled against.   
    “The door was open. I went in to make sure you were okay.” Pale fingers find dark hair, swirling in the bicoloured locks and finding them to be soft despite the rough scrubbing John gave them the night prior.   
    “Well thanks, but you would've been better off leavin me there.” The human glances down, watching Eridan twist and cuddle up to his side; not how he pictured one of the fierce high bloods Karkat described to him.   
    “Of course not; I don't see how we could be better off with one less team member.” The angel in John's arm laughs, frowning again as the human moves away from him to walk half steadily over to his closet. He pulls on a comfortable sweater with the Armageddon movie poster printed on the fabric.   
    “Here, I got blood all over yours.” He tosses Eridan one of his shirts, choosing one without much of a pattern for him so it doesn't confuse the troll. He examines the garment carefully, pulling it on and burying himself down under John's covers and hide. The god can understand that and doesn't push it, sitting on top of the covers beside Eridan to give him some of his own space.   
    “So, do you wanna talk about it?”


End file.
